You Know I'm No Good
by Dirtbags Inc
Summary: GTA V - It's been four months. Trevor thinks it's high time he and Evelyn got reacquainted—and what better time than during his business trip down to Los Santos? [Do Not Spray Into Eyes 2]
1. Chapter 1

**You Know I'm No Good  
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part two of the GTA V 'verse Trevor-centric series **do not spray into eyes**.

_I don't own anything from the Grand Theft Auto series, least of all Trevor, it all belongs to Rockstar, title is from the Amy Winehouse song, I'm not profiting from this nonsense, it's probably for the best, repeat ad infinitum._

**note** - if you're new to this mess, you might want to run over to my profile and read the first installment in the series. Things will definitely make more sense that way. Happy reading!

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><p><span><strong>One<strong>

Evelyn's life had long since returned to normal.

Well, "normal." When one had been taken hostage not once, but _twice_ by the same notorious criminal who was wanted all throughout the state for a rap sheet as long as one's arm, and when one had not only survived those encounters, but had also developed some form of twisted escapist quasi-romantic feelings for said criminal, "normal" might no longer be realistically accessible.

But at the very least, it was all over. After her second encounter with Trevor Philips had ended without (much) bloodshed, Evelyn had gone back to work the next Monday with no one the wiser, and like it had the last time, her routine clicked seamlessly back into place. It tripped her out a little bit, all that normalcy after the weird fucking night and day she'd spent with him, but soon enough, life caught back up to her.

She'd even managed to push any residual thoughts of and feelings about Trevor to the very back in her mind (she would have preferred getting rid of them entirely, since it would make life much simpler, but they proved resilient, cropping up every now and again late at night, especially when she'd been drinking). It helped that she hadn't heard from him since he'd left a "junk yard dog" in her house a month later with a note pinned to its collar that essentially explained that the animal would attack any man he saw (which turned out not to be true—the dog might be less comfortable and trustful around men, but neighborhood walks proved that he was perfectly capable of behaving himself).

_Really subtle, Trevor._

But that was three months ago. It was now late August, the summer heat fading into mostly cool breezes in the beachside town of North Chumash, and Evelyn, on the occasion that she _did_ think about Trevor, suspected that he had forgotten all about her.

She wasn't strictly surprised. After all, their parting hadn't exactly been amiable, and even with the gift of the dog, she could see him deciding to put the entire encounter behind him and focus forward. He was like that, she thought—likely to leave the inconvenient behind, and Evelyn was nothing to him if not inconvenient.

Her fear and anticipation faded, as they always did in human beings, requiring too much energy and focus to be sustainable for long. She resolved to look forward, too.

Which was why she was out on a date the day Trevor came crashing back on scene.

The date was odd for two very big reasons. First: while Evelyn had her friend groups, saw them often, and made sure to stay socialized and in touch, she also wasn't the sort to crave any sort of regular companion. She didn't have anything she could consider a best friend, she didn't plan on ever marrying, and she hadn't had a boyfriend, not even casually, since she left college. Most of the time, people just didn't interest her enough for her to want to spend all her time around them.

Secondly: those thoughts about Trevor were still present in her mind, no matter how hard she tried to shove them down, and Evelyn had never been romantically or sexually interested in more than one person at once. _One_ person that she was interested in was hard enough to find.

Alex, it seemed, was the exception to that rule.

He was a regular at her bank, a short, cute Latino guy about her age with a pointed nose and a wide, charming grin who started flirting with her the day he first started dropping by the bank.

This was shortly after the whole home invasion scenario, and so Evelyn wasn't particularly responsive at first. However, he kept coming by week after week, and the man was so gentle, even while flirting mercilessly with her—even his body language was unaggressive, and gradually, she found herself relaxing around him, even starting to flirt back. Only then did he ask her out, and, rather surprising herself, she'd said yes.

They met for a late lunch in one of the little seaside cafes, and the conversation struck up immediately. He was just confessing to her how he'd been stopping by unnecessarily for months—"It's true, my job has direct deposit, I don't even need to physically visit the bank, like, ever"—when a shadow fell over them.

Evelyn looked up and her heart jumped into her throat.

"Hey, this is cozy," Trevor said casually, glancing from Evelyn to Alex and back to her again. "_You_ moved on fast."

Evelyn's stomach curled into a tight little knot and she blinked, trying to convince herself that he was really here—which wasn't hard; she'd forgotten how he practically absorbed the energy of any given place, how he seemed louder and larger and more _real_ than anything else around. Seeing him in public really drove that home. He was dressed in black work pants, filthy scuffed-up boots, and a black motorcycle jacket with red sleeves, zipped all the way up against the wind. His hair had grown out some since she'd seen him last, but mostly on the sides, rumpled up like he'd been digging his hands in it, his face was stubbled heavily and sported a variety of cuts and scrapes that ranged from fresh to nearly-healed, and cheap plastic sunglasses covered his eyes, though the lenses weren't opaque enough that she couldn't see his glare from where she sat.

Basically, he looked like the psychopath he was.

"Um," Alex spoke up with a hesitant smile, looking at her for answers. "Who's this, Evelyn?"

"_Ah_," Trevor barked abruptly, holding an aggressive palm out in Alex's face, "_I'm_ asking the questions here, pal." He turned his back to Alex, standing directly in front of Evelyn and thumbing backwards towards her date. "Who's _that_ chump?"

_Yeah, I'm not going to answer that question_. She'd had a second to get her bearings, and so, trying to appear approximately a hundred percent calmer than she felt, she brushed a strand of hair out of her face, looked up at him, and said, "Trevor, what are _you_ doing here?"

He snorted, glanced over at the ocean across the street, planted his hands on his hips, and looked back at her. "Uh, I'm here to get _you_," he said, as if it should be obvious.

She frowned. "Um...?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, I don't have time for this shit," he said, and lunged at her. She squeaked, not knowing whether to expect a damn kiss or a rusty knife to the throat, but he just buried his shoulder in her stomach and the next second he was lifting her up out of her chair, striding away from the table with her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing (which was _not_ the fucking case).

"Tre_vor_," she howled, immediately driving her knee into his stomach, rewarded with a gratifying "oof" before he bounced her hard on his shoulder, knocking the wind right out of her.

"Behave yourself, Evy; _Christ_," he scolded her, sounding a little strained.

_Fuck_. Evelyn pushed herself upright, bracing against his back and seeing that Alex was going for his phone, looking fairly panicked. _Shit_. Of _course_ she was going to have to do damage control for Trevor's ass _again_. "Alex, don't call the damn cops," she shouted back to him, struggling to get the words with her lack of breath. "He's my fucking ex but he's not dangerous," she added, lying through her teeth.

"Um," Alex said, sliding back his chair and standing up, taking a few frightened steps in the direction they were going. "Are you sure? Cause it looks like he's kinda kidnapping you right now."

"Did you gain a little weight?" Trevor asked her as an aside, clearly having determined that he was above what was happening behind him. "Your ass looks amazing."

She was tempted to knee him again for that, if not for the hand she felt grasping at her ass through her jeans as the bastard helped himself to a feel. Instead, teeth gritted as she tried to keep control of herself and the situation, she called to Alex, "He's _not_. Look, I'll call you, okay? Don't call the cops!"

Then Trevor took a corner and she lost sight of her date, and a moment later, she was being dropped backwards into the seat of a car. She struggled upright immediately, finding that he'd put her in the driver's side a split second before he came sliding in beside her, making her hurry across the bench to the passenger's side before she got sat on. Of course, the second she reached the other side, the door was right there within grasp, and she had her hand on the handle and was pushing the door open without a second thought before Trevor said, "Oh, come on, _Evy_!"

Despite herself, she paused, and reluctantly, she glanced over at him. He'd whipped his sunglasses off, holding them between the fingers of the hand he had extended towards her, but he didn't touch her, just scowled at her. She sat frozen for a second with absolutely no idea what to do, and then Trevor said, "Just… close the fuckin' door."

Later, she'd attribute it to the fact that he wasn't grabbing at her and that he had no weapons on her—that it actually sounded like he was _asking, _despite the fact that he'd phrased it as an imperative. She sighed, tightened her grip on the handle, and yanked the door shut.

Trevor's face split into a smirk, and he dropped his glasses onto the seat between them before reaching for the ignition. "Thought so."

"Yeah, keep it up," she muttered as she settled back into her seat. "I'm not above doing a jump and roll out of this thing if you piss me off, you know."

"Ah, in that case, I better get up to top speeds as soon as possible," he said, reinforcing the threat by gunning the accelerator and throwing her back into her seat as the truck peeled out of the lot.

"Trevor, don't you _dare_, there aren't any seat belts in this fucking thing!" she yelped, grasping for the dashboard just so she had something to brace again as he whipped out into the road. He just laughed, a manic, high-pitched sound that had her suddenly regretting she didn't bail out of the truck the second she got the chance.

Despite the threat, he actually evened out his driving a little once they were on the main road, and as soon as she felt slightly less like she was about to die in a horrible fireball of a deadly collision, she relaxed minutely, blowing a strand of hair out of her face in irritation—not that it made a bit of difference; the fact that Trevor's truck didn't have any windows meant that her hair was whipping right back in her face the second after she moved it. Fortunately, she'd been wearing her bag slung across her chest; it had survived the abduction and she was able to find a hair tie among its contents.

As she wrestled her hair out of her face, she turned to Trevor, and, knowing she sounded distinctly antagonistic but not particularly caring, she said, "So what's the plan this time? Gonna loop me into an arson plot?"

"Mmm, not a bad idea if we have time," he said. She closed her eyes for a second, searching for strength and patience, and Trevor went on: "But for right now—we're just going to Los Santos."

Her eyes popped open again. He didn't seem to notice that she was staring at him like he'd just said they were dropping in on the farmer's market, so she took it upon herself to demand, "_Why_?"

He glanced over at her, forehead furrowing. "Because I have to head down there for business and I didn't want to make a fuckin' three hour drive alone, is that all right with you?"

She shook her head, utterly baffled. "I just… I have _so _many questions."

"Evelyn has questions. Go fuckin' figure," he snorted.

"_How_ did you know where I was?"

He glanced swiftly at her again, then back at the road. "Uh… Lifeinvader."

"_What_?"

"Hey, people are trading their right to privacy for whatever shallow fulfillments they get from social media, ain't my fault," he said defensively. "You don't want people knowing where you are, don't tell the whole fucking internet."

She shook her head, remembering suddenly that she had, in fact, responded to a friend who wanted to get lunch, telling her that she was going out with Alex. That friend had wanted to know where they were going; Evelyn told her. _That's the last time I'm ever doing __**that**__._

"Who is that Kelly girl, by the way? She's kinda hot."

Evelyn snorted. "Yeah, she's an aspiring personal shopper who spends all her spare time playing volleyball and surfing. I _kinda_ don't think she's your type."

"Oooh, jealous?"

"Why should I be? You're not stalking _her _Lifeinvader page." She double-took swiftly. "Wait. In order to see anything but profile picture and name even on public pages, you have to have your own account." Trevor's fingers suddenly got twitchy, and Evelyn couldn't help the huge grin that spread over her face. "You've got a fucking _Lifeinvader _account!"

"Look, I use it to gather information; I'm never actually _on_," he said defensively.

Evelyn laughed out loud, and Trevor scowled and shook his head, like her amusement didn't warrant comment. After a second, she asked, "So where's your location on there?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, where are you coming from? Kinda got the impression that you weren't living in North Chumash." The implied _because if you were close by, you could have stopped by before now _hung in the air unspoken, and she hoped he didn't pick up on it.

"Er." He glanced sideways at her, before twitching his head a little bit, _fuck it, _and saying, "Sandy Shores."

Evelyn's eyebrows shot up. "That's two hours from here."

"An hour and a half, if you drive like I do," he said defensively.

"_And _it's _southeast _of here, through woods and mountains. At the very least, driving to North Chumash is going out of your way if you're heading to Los Santos," she said, staring at him.

"Is there a _point_ you're fucking nearing, Evelyn?"

The grin had returned to her face, and she couldn't pull it back, even though she recognized that the clear happiness she felt at the realization pointed to her being more seriously out of her depth emotionally with him than she'd thought she was. "Oh, nothing. Just that you drove _two_ _hours_ out of your way—_just _to pick me up so that you, um, _wouldn't have to make a three hour drive alone_."

Trevor didn't say anything, but his hands tightened on the steering wheel until the knuckles turned white. Evelyn knew it was probably unwise to tease him further, given that he was probably fully willing to kick her out of the car _while _it was moving if he suddenly decided he wasn't enjoying her company anymore, but damned if she wasn't feeling _giddy, _and with that giddiness came a certain feeling of invulnerability. She tilted her head over into his space, practically leaning against his shoulder, and crooned, "You _missed_ me."

"All _right, _goddamnit, I fuckin' wanted to see you!" he roared, exploding at the drop of a dime. "Jesus, you don't have to put my balls in a vice over it!"

She tried to control her laughter as she swayed back into her seat, knowing that he would read it as mocking when really it was… well, _relief. _She realized now that the thought of never seeing him again had been a _bad _one, and despite the circumstances of their reunion, she was feeling particularly joyful. Which pointed to her being all shades of fucked up, worse than she'd realized, but at the moment, she didn't care. _Caring comes later, I assume, so for the moment I'm just… gonna let myself have this._

Trevor didn't let it lie for long. "And anyway," he ground out, "_you _didn't make a run for it when you got the chance, and you're over there… giggling like a fuckin' schoolgirl. You missed me too." His eyes slid sideways towards her. "Didn't you?"

She met his gaze. A few months ago, she would have blatantly lied, or even more blatantly dodged the question, but time to process things had made her feel a little more certain about the things she was willing to say in front of Trevor—things she regretted _not _being surer or more clear about last time around. Holding his eyes, she said, "Yeah, I did."

The grin she got then was practically boyish, odd on the face of a man she presumed was in his forties but somehow fitting. She felt her lips twisting without her permission and so she immediately faced front, hiding her smile and trying to ignore the fact that she was feeling the impulse to reach out and take his hand like a damn high school kid.

Of course, then, Trevor being Trevor, he smashed the mood to bits: "In that case, what're the chances of a little bit of road head?"

She suddenly found she had no trouble wiping the smile away, glaring at him instead. "_You _haven't changed a bit, I see."

"That's not an answer."

"The answer is _no. _Dick."

"Ahh, color me surprised. Still the same old boring Evy."

She didn't respond to that. She'd already told him how she felt about his labeling people who didn't live _his _lifestyle boring, and at this point, she figured he was angling for reverse psychology. If he seriously thought she was going to blow him on a dare—yeah, he'd been away from her longer than he'd realized.

For a while, they drove in silence, with just the sound of the ocean and the wind whipping in through the windows to keep them company, then Trevor sighed loudly. "Come _on_, Evy. Why'd I go through the trouble to bring you along for company if you're just gonna clam up? You didn't have this much trouble talking _last _time."

Evelyn, who had simply been reflecting on their situation and trying to decide just how deeply she was going to find herself mired in it _this_ time, shot him a half-amused, half-annoyed look. "Yeah, and with that in mind—you sure you _want_ me to talk? Last I checked, you weren't exactly a fan of the things I had to say."

"Yeah, cause half the things you said were bullshit."

"And the other half?"

"Brutally honest. Which I'm a fan of, so let's try and stick with that."

She watched him for a second, then gave a twitchy shrug, deciding that if he was asking for it… "You know that dog you gave me?"

He shot a quick sideways glance at her, scowling instantly. "You didn't take him to the fucking _pound_, did you?"

"No! What the fuck? No!" Of course, she'd be lying if she said it _hadn't _been a possibility—that was before she'd discovered that the dog was utterly devoted to her from that first time she'd walked into her house and had never done so much as show her his teeth. As it was, she didn't think Trevor needed to know that the thought had ever even crossed her mind.

"Okay, good. Cause it wasn't fucking _easy_ to get him. If you'd gotten rid of him, I'd be fucking pissed."

"Wait, how did you—" she started, before deciding abruptly that she did not want to know. "Never mind. No, he's at home right now, probably sleeping in front of the door waiting for me to get home. I was just going to tell you that I do _not _call him Butch."

Trevor double-took. "What? Why the fuck not?"

"Because that name is cliché as fuck, _especially _for a junkyard dog or a guard dog," Evelyn said honestly.

"_What_?"

"Anyway, he's not a Butch."

"F—" Trevor started, cutting himself off and staring at her like she'd sprouted a new head (and like he wasn't sure whether or not his first instinct to decapitate said head would be an acceptable course of action). Finally, sounding long-suffering and rubbing at the bridge of his nose with his middle finger, he said, "_Okay_, Evy—if he's not a Butch, then _what is he_?"

"He's a Napoleon."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Am not. He's fierce, stocky, and smart and tough as hell."

"You know what, Evelyn? I'm starting to remember in excruciating detail—you're _right_. I _don't_ want you to talk. Dear God."

Evelyn laughed out loud, and when she'd subsided, she found her eyes fixed on Trevor again. He was frowning, the expression deepening all of the considerable lines of his face and making him look, frankly, terrifying. At least, it _would_ be if she didn't know for a fact that the only reason she was around him again was because he'd felt like seeing her. It made one slightly less inclined to fear for one's life.

"Thank you, by the way," she said on impulse. "He's been great to have around—and he hasn't mauled anyone innocent, least of all me, so overall I think you did a pretty good job there."

He grunted. She thought maybe he looked a little uncomfortable with the expression of gratitude; he just said, "You know, there are _other_ ways to say thank you."

"Yep, and verbally just saying 'thank you' is sufficient for me."

Trevor groaned in annoyance. "Jesus. Am I ever gonna get any action out of you?"

"Maybe if you quit _trying _to get 'action' out of me every two seconds," Evelyn said frankly.

He seemed to consider this for a moment as he looked out at the road, and then, in painfully polite tones, he said, "_So. _What have _you _been up to?"

She laughed out loud. "Okay, not that I don't appreciate that you're making a gesture—I do—but there's no way you actually care."

"What the fuck do _you _know? Maybe I do," he said, sounding petulant.

She recognized his tone for the warning sign that it was and didn't scrape at him anymore. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, "Um—well, I'm still at the bank. Still seeing people every day, every weekend. I like having a dog to run with these days; Napoleon's got a lot of energy and needs to be taken around the neighborhood at least twice a day."

She saw him mouth _Napoleon, _nose wrinkled in disgust, obviously not over the name change (which personally, she didn't think was _that_ horrible). In retaliation, she switched gears: "_Trying_ to meet new people, too."

He snorted. "And by _meet new people, _I suppose you mean _looking for people to fuck. _How's that going?"

"You tell me. You kind of crash-landed into my first real date in a _while_."

"What, you mean with _Pablo_ at the café back there?"

She read the racist connotations of the question as an underhanded attempt to get Alex's actual name out of her, and so she didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she said, "Yeah. Do I need to worry that you're going to go after him?"

He blinked at her, looking startled, and she thought it was a bad sign that she couldn't tell if it was faked or not. "What, you—think I'm _jealous _cause you went out on a date with someone?"

When he phrased it that way, he made it sound like she was _angling _to get a reaction out of him—as if she'd set up the date purely to see what he would do, that she was now poking to see exactly what effect it had had on him, which, of course, was bullshit. She'd gone out with Alex because she liked him; there was not a single thought in her mind that Trevor would _show up _right in the middle to witness it. No, she was asking because it was _Trevor Philips, _and because based on what she knew of him, it wouldn't surprise her a bit if he went psycho stalker upon finding out that she might be interested in someone else.

She didn't think it was wise to say that, though, so she just stared at him, refusing to say _yes _or _no_, just waiting, because she knew he wouldn't be able to resist telling her exactly what he thought about the situation.

Sure enough, he returned his attention to the road and chuckled low. "Oh-ho-ho. _Evy_. You're still going strong, I see."

"_What?_" she asked, not bothering to hide her irritation.

"The fucking _lying _to yourself. Let me tell you, I've known plenty of people who do it without thinking, but you—oh, you elevate it to a _high art_."

"Are you going to tell me what you're talking about anytime soon, or—?"

"Yeah, you know, I _will. _Because fucking _obviously, _if I wait around till _you _figure it out, I might as well just go straight to my grave right fucking _now_." She threw out an annoyed hand, _you have the floor so quit fucking around and make use of it, _and gladly, he obliged. "I'm not jealous, Evy, because I don't fucking _need _to be. Cause I _know_."

"You know _what_?"

The shit-eating grin on his face made her suddenly want to slap him, so she balled up her hands into fists and pressed them tightly into her lap as he indicated himself with a hand to his chest. "You got a taste of ol' Uncle T, and just like _that, _you're hooked. See, you spend enough time dealing, like _I _certainly have, you figure out that _everyone _has their poison, their drug of choice. Now, yours might not be _actual _drugs, but that don't necessarily put you in the clear. _You_, Evelyn, are a Grade A adrenaline junkie—closeted, maybe, but not for fucking _long_. And who provides the sweetest fix you've ever tasted, huh?"

Evelyn was frowning. "Wait, just… two seconds. You're telling me—in so many words—that you think I'm _addicted _to you?"

"DING DING DING DING!" Trevor roared cheerfully, the sudden volume making Evelyn flinch. "We _have _a winner!"

"That… is so fucking wrong, I don't even know where to begin."

"Oh, I wouldn't expect you to say anything else," Trevor assured her. "Fortunately for you, as much as I _despise _self-delusion, I've decided that I can manage to put up with it for a little while, until something knocks some sense into you—because even if you won't _say _so yet, you're already _showing_ me that I'm right, and that'll do for a while."

"_Showing _you?"

"Just let me remind you, princess: I might have carried you to the car, but _you _closed the door." Evelyn didn't say anything, and Trevor let the wind whip around them and emphasize her silence for a moment before continuing, sounding unbearably smug. "So, yeah. Go back and date that wuss from the café, if he'll give you another chance after he saw you _actively _defending the, ah, _ex-boyfriend _who was in the middle of _kidnapping _you. _Fuck_ him, for all I care. It won't change the fact that when _I _come around, you're gonna drop him—and everything else."

All Evelyn could think to say in response to that was, "I don't think I've ever met a person as astoundingly full of himself as you are."

"Because I know the truth can hurt, I'm not gonna hold that comment against you," he said lightly.

Evelyn leaned her elbow against the window sill, rubbed her brow, and wished intently for a cigarette—but of course, since she only seemed to _really _want to smoke when Trevor was around, and because he'd shown up unexpectedly, she didn't have any on hand. For the first time since they'd started talking, she started to feel that old creeping stirring of fear—only this time, it was different. This time, she wasn't scared of _him_. At least, not directly. Rather, hearing him lay their situation out from his perspective, using _that _particular analogy… despite the fact that she'd called bullshit on reflex, for the first time, she was having trouble finding any logic or internal determination to _really _back that reflex up. Her internal voice, which she would always depend upon to provide her with a detailed list of why she was right and the other person was wrong, down to the bullet points, was notably silent in response to Trevor's assertions.

_That _fucking scared her.

Before she could really get going, Trevor's jarring voice interrupted her: "Evy? Are you doing that thing where you shut down and _think_ way too fuckin' much? Come on, I picked you up for a _reason. _You don't start pulling your weight in the conversation, I'm gonna throw you out into traffic, I swear to God."

Even though she rolled her eyes, Evelyn couldn't help but feel a little bit grateful that he was distracting her from that train of thought. There would be time enough for that later (something told her Trevor had awoken a monster; there was no way she was going to be able to squash down these thoughts now that they'd been roused again), but for now, she decided to just focus on the ride.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** - Aaand we're back. Leave it to Trevor to take things from zero to sixty in seconds. Someone hit him for me, I can't deal with him right now.

But hey, we get to hang out with Mikey next chapter. Arguments! Shouting! Stress! Trevor throwing Evelyn under the bus because he's a piece of trash who thinks it's funny! It'll be a fun time for _someone_, I'm sure. In the meantime, feedback is encouraging as hell. Stay awesome. :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

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><p><strong>40 Minutes of Driving Time<strong>

"You know, you probably shouldn't…"

"What? Oh, no, I can say that! One of my best friends and business partners is black!"

* * *

><p><strong>53 Minutes of Driving Time<strong>

"No, but seriously, don't you think it's a little weird that like ninety percent of the people in Sandy Shores speak with southern accents? This is fucking _San Andreas_."

"Look, rednecks can be found in any place where there's a gun shop, a liquor store, and a meth dealer all within a one mile radius. You should be happy! Your people are _near_!"

"Thanks, Trevor."

* * *

><p><strong>1 Hour, 38 Minutes of Driving Time<strong>

"Look, it's not like I'm asking for your sexual history in _detail_—though I wouldn't mind hearing about _that, _either. I just want to know what's the deal with your family. You an orphan? Child of abuse? _Something _had to happen to make you so closed-off about benign shit like this; I'm asking what it was."

"_Nothing. _I just don't see why I need to share information about my family with _you_."

"Uhh—maybe because I'm _asking_? Christ, Evy, I'm not gonna go hunt them down. I mean. Unless they give me a _reason_ to."

"That's _not _what I meant. I just—talking history, discussing family and past? I don't know if we're _there _yet."

"…my real dad was a fuckin' deadbeat; he's as irrelevant as all the rest that followed him. Ma is a beautiful goddess who lives up north. I had a brother named Ryan; he's dead now. There, see? Is that so hard?"

"…okay, fine. Mom died a long time ago, car accident. Left behind you've got me, my two brothers in the army, and my dad, who I don't speak to."

"Ahhh, I knew I smelled somethin' rotten! _Daddy issues_, oh; this is good. First off, do _I_ look like him, and secondly, what'd he do to you?"

"Okay, _no, _you guys look nothing alike, and are you sure you wanna go barking up the _issues _tree with what you just told me?"

"What?"

"I'm just saying, I don't know many forty-something year-old men—or any men at _all, _really—who describe their mothers as _beautiful goddesses_."

"What the _fuck _is that supposed to mean?!"

"Shit, easy! I'm only saying that maybe we should back off of the topic of family and talk about something else, okay? It's clearly not fun for _either _of us."

* * *

><p><strong>2 Hours, 4 Minutes of Driving Time<strong>

"You're kidding me. You've _met _him?"

"Ohh, yeah. _Major _prick."

"Heh. No kidding. He's _Lazlow Jones, _of _course _he's a prick."

"Oh, you hate him too, huh?"

"I mean, I'd hate him on principle given the sort of media he shits out into the world, but five seconds of watching him onscreen just confirms it."

"Oh-ho-hooo. In that case, I've got a video you've _got _to see."

* * *

><p>They arrived in Los Santos around nightfall. As the skyline loomed up large above them, casting an unnatural gray-blue lightness into the night sky, Evelyn found herself falling quiet, staring. It had been a while since she'd seen the city.<p>

Trevor noticed and groaned. "You're not one of those people who goes all starry-eyed at the sight of a skyscraper, are you?"

"Hmm?" It took her a second before she was able to tear her eyes away, focus on him, and replay the question in her head. "Oh. No. I just—cities aren't exactly plentiful in the deep south; the sight of them kind of makes me feel…"

"Awe-struck?" Trevor ventured sarcastically when she trailed off.

She met his eyes. "Nervous."

He looked at her for a minute, then, returning his attention to the road, he said, "Yeah, well, nothin' to worry about in Los Santos, believe you me. Might as well be a fuckin' monument to glass structures and plastic people and flashy hunks of _shit, _but it ain't scary, all right? Besides. We should be in and out."

He must have spotted her staring at him out of the corner of his eye, because when she didn't immediately respond, he turned his head to glare at her and snapped, "You got somethin' to say to that, pumpkin?"

She decided against telling him that it just seemed oddly sweet of him, responding to her expressed nervousness with reassurance, and instead just asked, "Which part of Los Santos are we going to?"

That seemed to pacify him. He looked front again and said, "Where else? The shittiest part."

Of course, it wasn't until they were in the heart of the rich side of town, surrounded by mansions and tennis courts, that Evelyn remembered that Trevor's definition of 'shitty' wasn't most people's. Her suspicions were confirmed when they pulled up in an alleyway just behind one of the nice neighborhoods mid-argument about the Bean Machine.

"Saying doesn't make it true. That shit ain't coffee," Trevor said as he put the truck in park and got out.

Evelyn thought it wise to scramble out to join him, even as she argued, "It's espresso-based."

"Oooooh, _espresso_-based," he mocked, his voice going up an octave, and when she shot him a dirty look, he said in his normal argument-voice, "Look, splashing a shot of espresso in a milkshake doesn't make it _not _a fuckin' milkshake, okay?"

"Whatever, _judgy._ Personally, I live for that time every year when the Machine starts making their autumn spice latte again, but since you apparently _hate joy, _you can just stand there and look down on me for it, no skin off my nose."

"I only _look down _on people who act like that shit counts as morning coffee. Admit it's a fucking dessert and have done with it."

"Literally _no one_ is arguing that it's _not_. That's what makes it awesome. You can get away with dessert in the morning—because it's _espresso-based._ Shit yeah, loopholes."

That made him snort, and he let it go, putting his hand on her side as they reached an intersection and steering her to the right, downhill. This put them squarely in a residential neighborhood, and Evelyn was starting to ponder the benefits versus the potential drawbacks of trying to get a more specific explanation of what they were doing from Trevor when he broke from her and moved across the street, brazenly ignoring the car that was speeding right towards him. Evelyn drew in a sharp breath of alarm, but luckily the car slammed on brakes, and when the irate driver leaned on his horn, Trevor paused, gave him the finger, and yelled, "Go fuck yourself!"

Evelyn figured this was a smart time to dart out into the street, grab Trevor by the arm, and yank him to the other side of the road, studiously avoiding eye contact with the driver. Trevor came along willingly enough, complaining: "Can you believe that asshole?"

Evelyn didn't think it would be wise to point out that he'd been blatantly jaywalking. Instead, she asked, "Trevor, _where _are we going?"

"Ah, right. Here."

"What?"

"Here, we're going right _here_."

She followed his pointing finger to the house they were standing in front of. It was big, beautiful, and—from what she could tell—securely gated. She studied the spiky fence blocking the driveway and asked, "Tell me you have gate access."

Trevor made a derisive sound. "_Gate access_. Come on, I'll show you gate access." He grabbed her hand, and she planted her feet, immediately sensing that she did not want any part of what Trevor planned to do at this house, but as soon as he met with the resistance, he snapped, "If you don't fuckin' move, I'm just gonna carry you again, Evelyn."

"Damn it," she grumbled, and went with him a few feet down the wall, where another, less intimidating gate intersected it.

He let go of her hand then and turned to her. "Okay," he said, his hands finding a place at her hips, "I'm gonna boost you up and over; you unlock the gate from the other side."

"What the—_Trevor_!" she said in sharp alarm as his hands tightened on her. "What is going _on_?"

"I just _told _you," he said, sounding exasperated. "_Up _you go!" Then he was boosting her into the air, and she thought it wisest to grab hold of the top of the gate before his support dropped out from under her.

"Damn it," she growled, swinging a leg over and taking a split second to be grateful that her date had been casual and she'd worn jeans. She got to the other side with no difficulty, checked to make sure she was alone in the courtyard, then turned and drew back the heavy deadbolt on the gate.

Trevor started forward immediately, but Evelyn stood blocking the path, holding onto the gate and glaring at him. He paused and, looking down at her face, demanded, "What?"

"_What _are we doing here, Trevor?"

"I _told _you. Business."

"Business for _you_ could mean _anything_. Breaking into a private home is a bad sign; I'm not gonna help you murder people, you understand?"

"Christ, _relax. _I'm just dropping something off. No one's gonna get hurt. Er—probably."

Evelyn watched him mistrustfully, but the reassurance was enough to make her let him pull the gate out of her hand and turn her around. "Move," he said, swatting her ass, and without thinking, she elbowed him in the stomach in retaliation—fortunately, the only response was a slightly winded laugh as he strode past her and headed for the front door.

Which was locked.

"Fuckin' Townley," he growled, and keeled to the right, leading the way through a covered parking spot and then back out into the open air before stopping and looking up and around. He apparently found what he was looking for, because she saw the flash of a grin before he turned back to her and said, "Okay—much of the same. I get you up onto that roof, you go through that window—" he instructed, pointing to the window in question, "get to the front door and unlock it to let me in. Sound good?"

"_No_, it doesn't sound good," said Evelyn, who could not believe what she was hearing or that this was an argument they apparently needed to have. "Trevor, do you even _know _these people?"

"Of _course _I fuckin' know them."

"Then why don't you just knock on the damn door?"

"Because that way is fucking _boring._"

"You want to make me sneak through a stranger's house and risk getting shot and killed just because it's more _interesting _that way?"

"Yep," he said, grabbing her by the waist again. "You ain't gonna get shot, though. Shoot first, ask questions later is more _my _style. Ready?"

She put her hands on his shoulders, tightening her grip so that _hopefully _he couldn't move her unless she wanted to move. "_No_. Trevor, I'm not doing this."

"Sorry, darlin', you don't get a choice," he said genially. "I'm lifting you up then letting go; if you don't get hold of that roof you're gonna fall and I won't catch you." Entirely true to his word, he shrugged her hands off hard and immediately boosted her up to the roof, and for lack of other options, she grabbed the edge and pulled herself up.

Once she was steady, she turned her head, glared down at him, and said, "I am five foot seven and one-forty, Trevor Philips."

"Point being?"

"Point being that you aren't supposed to be able to throw me around like some weightless rag doll!"

"Speed helps."

"This is _bull_shit," she groused.

"Blaaaah, blahblahblah, _get _in the fuckin' house," he ordered. She gave him the finger; he crowed with laughter and said, "Anytime, sweetheart."

"Fuck off," she growled, but for lack of anything better to do (now that she was on the roof, there was no way down but jumping or through the house and the drop was a _little _past the point she was comfortable with), she obeyed him.

She wriggled through the open window, landing lightly in the small bathroom it led into. From down below, Trevor said, "All _right,_ now get to the door."

She paused, turned, ducked her head out of the window again, and hissed, "I'm _going!_ Shut up!"

Then, as she pulled her head back inside, she heard the sound of a gun being cocked. A calm voice said "Turn around. Slow."

_Great. Just fucking great._

Evelyn obeyed, carefully rotating in the small bathroom until she was oriented facing the guy who had a gun on her. He was taller than she was by a few inches, middle-aged, with a full head of well-coiffed, dark hair and very blue eyes, clean-shaven, a bit jowly, built wide and solid. He held the gun steady, pointed directly at her face, and he narrowed his eyes at her. "Who the fuck are you and what the fuck are you doing in my house?"

"Umm." Evelyn took a split second to curse Trevor and all his progeny, past, present, and future, and then thought, _fuck it, I'm not taking the fall just because he was __**bored**__; he said he knew these people, hopefully that means they're not enemies, _and, taking the chance, she said, "I'm with… Trevor Philips."

If anything, the expression on his face got harsher, meaner. He didn't lower the gun. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

She tilted her head towards the window. "He's down there. Ask _him_, cause I sure as hell don't know what the fuck is going on."

"Shit," he muttered, then glanced over his shoulder and took a few steps back. "Come on. Out here."

Warily, keeping her hands where he could see them, she eased her way out of the bathroom. He circled her, backed into the room and up to the window, and keeping the gun on her, he glanced outside. When he saw Trevor, his shoulders slumped and his scowl deepened, though some of the scariness left his face, Evelyn thought, in favor of exasperation. "T, what the _fuck_?"

"Heeeey, Michael!" Evelyn heard Trevor roar distantly. "Good to see you aren't slackin' when it comes to home security!"

"What the _fuck _are you doing breaking into my house?"

"Hey, _I'm _not breaking into your house. _Evelyn _broke into your house. I'm just along for the ride."

Evelyn wished this Michael person didn't still have a gun drawn on her, if only so she could go to the window and tell Trevor to go fuck himself. Fortunately, the guy didn't seem to be buying Trevor's bullshit. "Yeah, I believe _that_. Answer me for real, you dick. What the hell is going on?"

"If you haul your fat, lazy ass to the front door and _let me in,_ I'll _tell_ you."

Michael abruptly clicked the hammer of the gun back in place, tucked it into his back waistband, and moved towards Evelyn, grabbing her by the upper arm. "All right, move," he said, sounding both irritated and resigned, and she thought it wise not to put up any resistance. He guided her down a flight of stairs that led right to the front foyer, muttering as he went, "Thank God Amanda's out."

The house was gorgeous, probably seriously expensive given its location, and that struck Evelyn as odd. Trevor, as messy and anarchy-inclined as he was, didn't seem the type to hold with people who were rich and lived like it. Then again, he robbed banks for a living and so did his colleagues, so maybe she was totally wrong. Michael walked her briskly to the front door, his grip on her arm firm but not bruising, unlocked it, and dragged it open. Trevor was waiting there for them, and Michael stood blocking the doorway, glaring at him and lifting his spare hand to point at Evelyn even as he maintained his grip on her. "Who's this?"

Trevor strode inside like he'd been invited despite Michael's distinctly unwelcoming body language, brushing past them and glancing around the room as he responded, his voice a little higher-pitched than usual, heavily mocking: "Ahhh, Mikey, you don't remember Evelyn? Man, I'm starting to get a little worried about you. Memory loss at fifty isn't normal, bro; maybe you should get that checked out."

"Ah, God," Michael growled, turning instead to Evelyn and looking over her. "You do look kind of familiar," he said slowly, warily. "Where do I know you from, again?"

Evelyn had already put it together. When she'd first heard his name, she'd of course connected it to the tattoo on Trevor's arm, but it was more than that—she, personally, recognized that voice, that strong Midwestern accent. The fact that he seemed totally comfortable with a gun in his hand added to her suspicions, and him calling Trevor "T" just confirmed them. He was one of the thieves that hit her bank that day.

Which was actually a pretty dangerous piece of knowledge to have, and she _really_ hoped Trevor knew what he was doing, bringing her here. (She tried not to think about the possibility that he had brought her along in the deliberate effort to get her killed without having to do it himself.) In the meantime, she didn't think it was wise to let the dangerous and very-probably-homicidal bank robber know that she knew exactly who he was in relation to past crimes that he could _definitely_ go to prison for, at the very least, so she just shrugged.

Unfortunately, Michael had caught on by this point as well, and his eyes narrowed. "Wait a second. Evelyn?" He didn't wait for her to confirm before whirling on Trevor and bellowing, "Trevor—_what_ _the_ _FUCK_?!"

"Hey, whoa, whoa, _whoa_, big guy!" Trevor said in a placating tone, widening his eyes in an affectation of innocence that Evelyn would have found almost credible if she didn't know him and know that "Trevor" and "innocent" were not words that belonged in the same _paragraph_ together, let alone the same _sentence_. "What's the problem, huh?"

Seeing the look on Michael's face, Evelyn was worried that he might actually explode. He advanced two steps towards Trevor, seemed to think twice, and doubled back to draw close to her again, jabbing a finger in her face, though he maintained furious eye contact with his partner. "This the fuckin' hostage from the Chumash job?" he demanded, his tone clipped.

Since he clearly already knew exactly who she was and was just asking to confirm, Evelyn, true to form, made an ill-advised quip in response to the stress: "Hey, _I_ wasn't going to say anything." She regretted saying _that_ when he turned the force of his glare on her, and she took a step back, wishing that Trevor was closer, because she felt the sudden urge to hide behind him. Of course, Trevor wasn't exactly an angel, but still. _Better the devil I know, right?_

Instead of being near her where he could actually be _useful, _he'd come to a stop all the way across the room, and he was glancing between her and Michael with a twisted half-smile, not doing a thing to pitch in and explain, just watching. This didn't really inspire a sense of security in Evelyn—_what if this is a fetish thing for him, bringing girls to his homicidal friend's house and watching them get murdered_—and she folded her arms protectively over herself in response to Michael's anger. He didn't look at her long, though, turning the force of his glare back onto Trevor soon enough.

"Unbelievable, man. Un. _Fucking_. Believable. You bring her to _my _house? _My _fuckin' house?! What the _fuck _is wrong with you, Trevor? What, didjya just… fuckin' _kidnap_ her?"

"Hey—_hey!_" Trevor barked, though judging from the immediate return of his mocking tone he wasn't interrupting Michael to ease his mind: "What the fuck are you thinking, huh, Mikey? What's with all the _panic_?"

Michael, pacing back and forth from the door to the stairs and back again, was just worked-up enough that he either didn't realize or didn't care that he was clearly being baited. "Oh, _excuse_ me for panicking. I'm just havin' a little trouble with the fact that after a clean getaway, a hostage situation gone _miraculously _right, for once… _months _later, my psychopath of a best friend tracks _down _the hostage and _kidnaps _her, then brings her to _MY FUCKIN' HOUSE_! Why the _fuck _wouldn't I be a little fuckin' _panicked, _Trevor?"

"Whoa, whoa—_kidnapped_? Who said anything about _kidnapping?_" Trevor demanded, sounding offended.

Michael stopped dead, glared at Trevor for a second, then switched his gaze to Evelyn. She took a step back, hitting the door with her back as he came charging towards her, but he stopped short just in front of her, still not touching her. Breathing heavily, angrily through his nose, he held up a fist, extended the finger in Trevor's direction, and demanded, "He kidnap you?"

"Umm…" Evelyn somehow pulled her eyes away from his fury-twisted face and looked past him to Trevor. The fucked-up grin he'd been wearing as he taunted Michael had disappeared—he was frowning slightly instead, brows knit, waiting for her answer with apparently as much anticipation as his friend.

She hadn't been planning to throw him under the bus either way (if Michael thought she had been kidnapped and therefore had the motive to ID both of them, there was no way he'd be okay with letting her leave his home alive, so she didn't want to give him any reason to think she was a threat), but the total lack of cocksure certainty decided it for her. She met Michael's gaze again and admitted, "Not… exactly?"

His nostrils flared angrily. "Not _exactly_?" he repeated, shaking his head a little to signal that she'd better clarify, and _fast._

"From a certain… slightly skewed perspective, I think you could _maybe_ say it'd be fair to call it more of a really fucked up kind of a… date."

"A-_ha!_" Trevor roared from across the room.

"A _date_?" Michael repeated, clearly incredulous.

"I _fuckin'_ knew it!"

"Hey, don't get cocky," Evelyn said, leaning past Michael to shoot Trevor a warning look. The shit-eating grin was back as he prowled back and forth in front of the kitchen; her warning clearly went in one ear and out the other, but Michael spoke up again before she could start properly threatening him.

"Hold the _fucking _phone," Michael said loudly, bringing both of them to a stop as they turned their attention to him. He was standing totally still in the center of the room, one hand on his hip, other pinching the bridge of his nose, and after a few seconds of processing, he lowered his hand from his face, glanced from Trevor towards Evelyn, and said, "You two are _dating _now?"

"_Yep,_" Trevor said as Evelyn simultaneously and firmly said, "_No._" Trevor gave her a wounded look, which she ignored, addressing Michael instead: "This is _kind _of a weird date-type _situation_. We're not _dating._"

"Not _officially_," Trevor said.

Evelyn met his gaze again, widened her eyes emphatically, and said, "_Not at all._"

"Evy—come on, you're really killin' my buzz over here. Anyway, _you _said it first, not me."

"_Trevor_!" Michael barked, bringing their attention back to him. Glaring hard at his friend, he demanded, "Dating, not dating—_whatever. _Why the _fuck _did you bring our old _hostage _to my fucking _house_?"

"Droppin' off the cash from the Grapeseed score," Trevor said as if it should be obvious, punctuating the statement by flipping a saran-wrapped brick of money through the air towards Michael. "It's a three hour drive; you think I was gonna make it alone?"

"I kinda _hoped _you would," Michael said with false brightness, belied by the scary expression back on his face. "Especially since the _alternative _is apparently bringin' a witness to a bloody bank robbery in which I participated to _my fucking house_. _Classic _Trevor, everybody!"

"Hey, hey, _easy_," Trevor said, switching gears into a soothing tone. "You think I'm gonna endanger you?"

"You want me to answer that question honestly?" Michael asked bluntly.

"Evelyn's not gonna say _shit,_ bro. Are you, Evy?"

Well, no, she wasn't, but she didn't think Michael would take her word for it, and the scoff he gave immediately in response to Trevor's assertion proved her right. "Okay, so look," he said, voice dripping with scorn, "You two are kind of… _sort _of getting along right now, I can see that. So maybe you think everything's kosher_. _But guess what, T? You have a tendency to piss people the _fuck _off. Did you think for _two seconds_, did you realize that the moment you fuck up and make this girl despise you, that you have just _handed _her everything she needs to send us both to hell?"

"Whoa," Evelyn breathed at Michael's infuriated conclusion. She was starting to get a sense of why Trevor had been so annoyed in response to being asked about Michael; the contempt just emanating from him at this point was palpable, putting a weight of tension on everyone in the room.

And Trevor and tension didn't mix well. He was glaring, hands balled into fists at his sides, and when he spoke, it was through furiously gritted teeth: "If you would _listen _for one _second, _Michael—it doesn't _matter _how Evelyn feels about me. Even if she was _gonna _rat us out—and I do not think she _would_—then I got three words for you: _mutually assured destruction_."

That gave Michael pause. His eyes flicked to Evelyn for a split second before returning thoughtfully to Trevor, and he shifted his weight from one foot to another. "What're you saying?"

Trevor sensed he'd gained the upper hand, so he took his time answering, releasing a long, exaggerated sigh of annoyance. Finally, just when Michael was starting to look like he might explode again, Trevor said sneeringly, "She's an _accomplice, _Mikey. She tries to take us down, _she _goes down, too."

_Ah, shit. _Evelyn had known of course that technically, her failure to report Trevor's presence in her home those months ago made her an active participant in the eyes of the law. She just had been avoiding thinking about it too much, and hearing it put so bluntly by the guy who could get her sent to jail was a little overwhelming. Fortunately, it seemed clear that he wasn't going to rat _her _out if she didn't rat _him _out, and she really had no plan to _do _that, so she resolved to push it back, deciding that she wasn't going to let herself worry about it—least of all right _now._

Michael seemed wary, as though he wanted to feel reassured but couldn't quite bring himself to it. "She's your accomplice," he repeated, testing the sound of it.

"Yeah. I just _said_ that. You hearing everything okay, Mike? Cause I feel like you're having trouble understanding simple concepts."

Evelyn rolled her eyes and chipped in: "In his defense, it _really_ doesn't help that you're doing the Trevor thing."

"What's the _Trevor thing_?" Trevor asked, sounding vaguely offended.

"That thing where you give people the scantest amount of information you can get away with and then act all superior when they're justifiably extremely confused about what's going on."

"_Thank_ you," Michael said emphatically.

"What, are you two ganging up on me now?" Trevor objected.

"_No_, just saying that it's a terrible habit of yours." Now that they had gotten some distance from the blowup, Evelyn found it in herself to address Michael directly. "He's right, though. I doubt you want to hear details, but unless I just suddenly ditch my self-preservation instincts and decide I _want _to go to prison—and that's a _best-case _scenario, if the two of you don't _kill _me first—you're in absolutely no danger from me."

Michael stared at her for a few seconds before looking at Trevor and demanding, sounding slightly baffled, "Where did you _find_ this girl?"

"Uh, at her house. Well—not _today_. Today I picked her up while she was in the middle of a date."

"And he's being shockingly literal when he says that," Evelyn sighed.

Michael closed his eyes and shook his head rapidly, like he was trying the shed the remnants of a bad dream. When he opened his eyes again, he still seemed angry, but also calmer. He looked at each of them through narrowed eyes and said, "All right. I guess with both of you tellin' me this ain't gonna backfire, I've got no choice but to believe you—if only for the sake of my own sanity."

"_Hah_! Good one, Mikey. You and sanity, that's a laugh," Trevor jeered.

"Yeah, you're one to talk," Michael muttered.

"Well, now that _that's _taken care of, we'd better get going," Trevor said, striding towards the door and abruptly checking himself halfway across the room. "Or, wait—Tracey and Jimmy home?"

"Ehhh, they should be in their rooms," answered Michael, who still didn't sound exactly happy.

Trevor was already headed towards the stairs. "I should pop my head in, say hi to the fucking brats. Evy, wait here, it'll just be a minute." Evelyn had moved to follow, and at his instruction she shot him a slightly concerned look. Trevor saw it and scoffed. "What, you worried about Mikey? Don't be. He likes painting himself as the good guy; it's harder to do that when he's maiming and killing women, so he'll probably try to avoid doing anything to you."

"Yeah, go fuck yourself," Michael told him.

"That's _not _a denial," Trevor replied, and disappeared upstairs, yelling, "JIMMY! Where are you, you fat piece of shit?"

"Jesus," muttered Michael. There was a brief, awkward pause while they listened to Trevor's footsteps thumping away above them, and then he turned to Evelyn and said, "Well, come on, then."

She raised a mistrustful eyebrow, and he sighed. "I ain't gonna hurt ya. I just need a smoke and I'm not thrilled by the idea of you wandering around my house alone, so you're coming out back with me."

"Hey, you had me at _smoke_, provided you'll let me bum one."

"Yeah, no problem," he mumbled, leading the way out to a back patio looking over a pool. Once she closed the door behind them, he handed her a cigarette and was courteous enough to light it for her before getting his own. They were Redwoods, which Evelyn hated, but she was hardly going to turn up her nose at or complain about a free cigarette, especially not after the scene inside. They smoked for a minute in silence, then Michael said, "You know, I gotta ask—"

"He lifted my address off my license and invaded my home a couple of months ago. Without getting too much into it, after he left, I decided that it would be unwise to call the cops, so now I've technically knowingly harbored a fugitive and he can take me down if I try to rat either of you out. Scarier than _that_—I think at this point, if I gave him to the cops, he'd take it personally. Fortunately, I don't _want _to rat out you _or _Trevor, so basically, don't worry, you're _fine._"

"That's reassuring," he said dryly, "but I was more wondering why you _don't _seem to want to get the closest, most heavily-armed authorities involved. You've spent time with the guy; I assume you've dipped a toe into the _insanity _that is Trevor Philips. What the fuck is going on there?"

"What," she replied, deadpan, "you don't think he's got a little bit of that sharky, terrifying Nicholson attractiveness going on?"

Michael snorted. "Hey, the physical aspect is confusing _enough _to me, but I'm a little more preoccupied with the fact that he's a murdering, demented psychopath, and you _know _that, yet you seem to be okay with it. Why?"

"You sure you want to know?"

"Not at all."

Evelyn smirked, blew out a cloud of smoke, and said, "I don't know, man. Blame it on Stockholm syndrome if you really want to, but it doesn't quite fit—lack of exposure to the threatening party and reintegration into regular society results in gradual fading of those false feelings of appreciation, and it's been… ahh, four months since I saw him, and nothing's really changed. I just think I'm more fucked-up than I realized, and believe it or not, Trevor is… he's interesting to me. And interesting is important."

"Oh, yeah, he's interesting, all right," scoffed Michael. After another pull, he went on: "It just doesn't make sense. I mean—and don't take this the wrong way—you are _not _his usual type."

Evelyn released a startled laugh. "What does _that _mean?"

"It means you're younger than he is. And you're pretty, and kinda classy, and—aside from apparently liking _Trevor_—you seem smart. And sane."

"Keep going and I'm gonna start blushing," Evelyn said dryly, pointing her cigarette warningly at him.

"I'm just _saying. _None of those are traits that line up with Trevor_. _What, is it 'cause he's loaded?"

Evelyn frowned, shook her head. "What?"

"Cause you're probably not gonna see any of it."

"Wait, two seconds, back up—what do you mean, loaded?"

Michael stared at her for a second, looking like he wasn't quite sure whether or not she was just fucking with him, and finally he told her, "Trevor's got millions."

Reflexively, she replied, "Fuck you, no he doesn't."

"Swear to God. More money than he could possibly spend in his remaining years, though knowing Trevor, he'll find a way."

Evelyn took a moment to process this. Finally, slowly, she said, "Wow. I'm… actually kind of impressed; he really puts his money where his mouth is. Or, you know, _doesn't._"

"What's _that_ mean?"

"It means that clearly, his contempt for your average Los Santos citizen isn't borne of jealousy. I mean, he apparently has the means to live just like they do and he's made the decision not to. Now, his _expression_ of that contempt is still obnoxious as fuck, but at least he's not being a hypocrite."

Michael studied her for a second, then asked, "So you really didn't know about the money?"

"No, he hasn't said anything and it never occurred to me to ask. Knowing now doesn't… really change anything, either. I'm financially stable; I don't need anything from him."

Michael pulled on his cigarette, blew out a puff of smoke, and said, "Now I'm _really _baffled. I don't know what you see in him."

"No? I mean, you're his friend—what do _you _see in him?"

"Sure, I'm his friend. Seems like that's always gonna be the case, no matter what I do. Doesn't mean I don't sometimes wake up in cold sweats, thinkin' I'm gonna see _him_ in the corner getting ready to fire up a chainsaw."

"Oh, that's _right_. The whole you-faking-your-death-to-get-away-from-him thing."

"He told you about that?" Michael demanded, sounding annoyed, and after a second and another puff from his cigarette, he chuckled humorlessly. "Don't know why I'm surprised. He tells _everyone_."

"Yeah, in the heat of the whole don't-kill-me-I'm-not-a-rat drama in there I kind of forgot about that, but you guys aren't on the greatest of terms, are you?" Upon really remembering the story behind the two of them, the frankly surprising amount of antipathy she'd seen Michael direct towards Trevor made a bit more sense.

Michael irritably ground out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and turned back to her. "Listen to me, kid. You clearly at least know the basics, you know I've got experience here, so let me just say this: I hope you know what the fuck you're doing. You enter Trevor's life, cultivate _any_ kind of relationship with him, then you don't leave till you're dead. You seem to be fine with it now, but that'll change. You're gonna want out, and you'll make a bid for it, and yeah, you might think you've escaped. You might be fucking _certain_. But he'll find you eventually. Once he's got his claws in you, Trevor does _not _let go."

Evelyn decided that she wasn't a fan of the way Michael talked about Trevor, like he was more parasite than human being. Given that he didn't bother to deny Trevor's version of events and in fact seemed to consider himself the wronged party, she didn't think he had the strongest grasp on the concept of loyalty, so that was two strikes against him. She didn't think it would be wise to call him out on it, though, not when she was in his home and still wasn't sure she was fully safe from him, so instead, stubbing out her own cigarette, she just said, "Duly noted."

Michael narrowed his eyes and looked like he was about to say something else, but something distracted him—the sound of a car, a gate opening. "_Fuck_," he spat, and bolted into the house, running into the foyer. "Trevor!" he shouted upstairs. "Amanda's home! Get the fuck out _now!_"

"Pull your panties out of your asscrack, Pork Chop, I was on my way out, anyway," Trevor said, appearing at the top of the stairs and ambling down in no particular hurry.

"I do _not _need a fight right now, Trevor," Michael bellowed. "_Get_ out! Go through the back!"

Evelyn had lingered in the kitchen, not wanting to follow Michael too closely, and she witnessed Trevor stroll cockily past his friend, pausing to say sarcastically, "Great to see you, _too, _man. Really. We should do this more often."

"Good_bye_, Trevor," Michael said pointedly. Trevor scoffed and moved past him, catching Evelyn by the arm as he passed into the kitchen. She was ready for it when he grabbed her in passing, moving with him past the pool, cutting sideways into the tennis courts and approaching the fence there. Like a gentleman, Trevor gave her a boost up even though she was perfectly capable of scaling the fence on her own, then followed suit. In seconds, they landed on the sidewalk on the opposite side, avoiding the potential blowup and getting out free and clear.

* * *

><p><strong>AN** - Can anyone tell I have a love/hate relationship with Michael? I care about the dude, I really do, but every time he starts talking about Trevor like he's human waste I want to just take a tazer to him for a couple of seconds until he _learns_. Less with the judginess, dude, please, _you're_ the one who teamed up with him to begin with. But I do like him. Really. Now all we have to do is get Franklin involved, because that kid is an angel. Well. A murdering angel, but nonetheless.

Trevor and Evelyn have been a little preoccupied with, you know, kidnapping/being kidnapped and the casual b&e, but next chapter brings them a certain amount of downtime in which they get to reassess exactly what they're doing and where this is going. Things could get messy. Or not. Until then- thanks to all of you for the reviews and encouragement, I thoroughly appreciate it!


	3. Chapter 3

Happy GTA V Remastered release day! Here's the final chapter of this little piece- I hope it proves enjoyable. :)**  
><strong>

* * *

><p><span><strong>Three<strong>

Trevor's boots hit the ground with a satisfying thunk, and he leisurely straightened up from his landing crouch, extending his arms wide and stretching his shoulders and back. "Ahhh," he said contentedly, then turned to look at Evelyn. She was standing with her hands on her hips, watching him, and on cue, she said, "Well, _that _was interesting."

"_That _was Michael. You like him?"

She thought about it for a second, then admitted, "Not really."

Trevor barked out a laugh and started uphill, heading back towards the alley where he'd left his truck. "Then you got good instincts, kid. Come on, let's go."

He led the way, and it wasn't long before he realized Evelyn was flagging. He turned around, irritation spiking. "Come on, Evy, pick up the pace. I wanna get out of this shithole ASAP."

Obediently, she hurried up till she was one pace behind him, and she stuck to him from that point. That gave him pause, and after a few moments of striding along in silence, he realized that it was because _obedience _wasn't really Evelyn's style. Sarcastic quips leading to logical arguments leading to tremendously _il_logical outbursts was generally how she did things. Surely she had something to say, some quibble to make about what had just gone down. At the very least, he expected to get chewed out for making her break into Mikey's place (he couldn't resist; call it an initiation of sorts).

Maybe she was just simmering, working up a real rant. He gave it some time, continuing along silently, allowing her a chance to get really worked up.

When they reached the alley where he'd left the truck, he got them clear of the street view, then turned expectantly to her. She looked back up at him, and, clearly seeing in his expression that he was expecting something from her, she widened her eyes innocently and asked, "What?"

He scowled. "What do you mean, _what_? Usually I can't shut you up and suddenly, what, not a goddamned peep? What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," she exclaimed immediately.

"I don't believe you. Don't fuckin' clam up on me all of a sudden."

"I didn't mean to, I swear," she insisted. "I was just thinking."

He blinked. "Oh. Okay, then." He took a step closer, she took a step back against the alley wall. Intentionally looming over her, unblinking, he said, "Why don't you _enlighten _me? What were you thinking?"

Rather than flinching away, she did what Evelyn usually did and faced him—she rose to the challenge, although not before visibly calming herself, relaxing her shoulders, and pressing the palms of her hands flat against the brick behind her. Then, she tilted her head back, angling it so that she could look directly at him, and after taking a breath, she said, "Just… I've been thinking about you and, I guess like… your relationships with people. Or—_how _you relate to them."

He stared at her, feeling a spark of anger in his chest. He didn't exactly follow her, but instinctively, he did not like the idea of people poking and prodding around in his personal affairs. _Shouldn't have introduced her to Michael, then, _muttered a smart-assed little voice in his head, which he ignored. "What the fuck does _that _mean?"

She didn't respond to the challenge in his tone with some kind of smarmy quip like she normally would, which was a little worrisome and admittedly only fueled the sense of irritation he felt. Instead, she stared at him, lids half-lowered like she was suddenly very tired, and she said, "Please don't get mad. I don't want to upset you. I just meant that… meeting Michael, talking to him a bit, hearing the way he talks about _you_…"

Her eyes had slipped away from him in thought as she spoke, but then she paused, brought her gaze back up to meet his, and asked him, "When you described yourself as some kind of universal dealer earlier, you meant it, didn't you?"

He was mystified, which only served to anger him further. Drawing a breath, he spoke in low, measured tones, the voice he only used when he knew he was about to start yelling any second. "Evelyn. I'm starting to lose my patience."

"Because that's what you do, right?" she continued, ignoring the warning in his tone and continuing to look him directly in the eye. "You're in the business of getting people what they want. Sometimes that means drugs, sometimes that means… any amount of other things."

Trevor's scowl had deepened. Abruptly, he leaned back, dropping his hands from the wall where they'd been hemming Evelyn in. Angling his chin up, glaring down at her, he said, "Why do I bother tryin' to get any sense out of you anymore, huh?"

She'd obviously warmed to the topic, though, gotten more comfortable with it, and she actually took a step forward, closing the new space between them. Intently, she said, "The way you phrased it to me earlier was an eye opener, obviously. Then I met Michael—and it was just so clear, even after spending just five minutes with the guy, that he sees you as… I don't know, some useful _thing. _Useful but _unpleasant. _And he acts like you drive him crazy, but because you fulfill some need he has, he, I don't know, _tolerates _you."

And for once, Trevor didn't quite know what to say.

He was still angry, sure. Angr_ier_, if he was being honest—he didn't know where she got off, talking about Michael like that—but it was a muted, disgruntled kind of anger, practically foreign to him, possibly fueled by the grudging but persistent feeling that she had a point. Before he could decide how to handle the latest turn in the discussion, she was pushing on, still with that earnest expression on her face that kind of infuriated him and kind of made him want to kiss her.

"The _point _I'm making—"

"God, _finally._"

Her courage failed her again and she frowned, dropped her gaze again, fixing it on her hands, which she was actually wringing. Clearly it was taking a lot for her to work up the nerve to just _spit it out, _but his impatient prompting seemed to only be setting her back, so although it irked him, he managed to hold his tongue and wait.

It paid off. She dropped her hands suddenly, looked up resolutely at him, and said, "The point is that I don't want to be that way. With you."

The anger flickered, giving way to a sudden flash of fear. _God, is this it already? _He'd thought, given the circumstances of their last meeting, that this, _today, _had been the right thing to do. He hadn't exactly sat around and planned it out, but some instinct told him that yeah, spending time with Evelyn in circumstances that _weren't _strictly centered on her being afraid of him would maybe allow her to relax, come to some conclusion about him that wasn't completely informed by her survival instinct.

And hey, maybe he'd been right—maybe she _had _come to a conclusion about him. Only it had happened faster than he'd anticipated, and judging by her tone and how hard it was for her to spit it out, it wasn't one he was going to like. _Shit. Shit. Trevor, you've stepped right in it, you fucking moron._ Trying to keep his voice level, hearing the strain in it nonetheless, he asked, "What are you saying, Evelyn, huh? Which way is _that _way?"

She must have picked up on that faint tone of dread, too, because she immediately reached out, taking hold of his hands where they hung idly at his waist, and he twisted them around and closed his fingers around hers right away, not quite letting himself get his hopes up but definitely absorbing the contact while he still could.

His grip might have even been just a bit too tight, but she didn't flinch, maintaining steady eye contact as she told him, "Acting like the only thing I find valuable about you is—in your words—the _fix _you can provide me with. Acting like I don't even _like _you. Look, I know I haven't given you anything concrete, and, you know, as far as committing to anything goes, anything at _all, _really, I can't do that, either. But I _do _want you to know… and please, _please _don't make me regret saying this, Trevor, but I want you to know that I really _do_ like you. And I like being around you, and despite the fact that it was fucking _rude_, I'm glad you came and got me today."

Trevor stared at her for a minute, wondering if he was hearing things (not like it would be the first time). Watching her mouth to make sure it was moving in accordance with the words he was hearing, he double-checked, repeating, "You like me."

"Yes," she said, sounding and looking just as resolute as she had the first time she'd said it.

And, despite the fact that he'd been trying to convince her of that fact the majority of the time they'd spent together, now that she was saying it out loud, he found himself unable to quite believe it. He _imposed _himself on people, they tolerated him because they got money and jobs and drugs out of him, but they didn't _like _him, especially if they weren't in the game and therefore didn't recognize his inherent value as a player. Evelyn had no use for him as a resource, she didn't seem to need money, and though he stood by what he said about her being a closeted adrenaline junkie, appreciating the craziness he could bring into her life did not equate _liking him._

So he doubted her, and because Trevor was a masochist, he made it clear to them both when he asked, "_Why_?"

She seemed to think it was just a joke, because she laughed. When Trevor just continued to frown, though, the smile slowly disappeared from her face, replaced by bemusement, flavored with concern. "You're serious? …ahh, wow, okay. I hadn't really thought it through."

"Yeah, _you, _not overthinking _everything_, _that's _funny," Trevor sniped, that sudden hated sense of vulnerability making him hostile, but Evelyn ignored the jab as if she hadn't even heard it.

She studied him for the longest few seconds of his life, then abruptly, she said, "I like that you're interesting, I've told you that before. In a weird, twisted way, I think you're one of the smartest people I've ever met, and I like that. There's… there's almost this bacchanalian demi-godliness to you, Trevor, this sense that you're pure energy, untouchable, and I _really _like that. Most of all, though, despite certain elements of you that throw me off guard more than not… I don't know, I see hints of a very real sweetness in you. Like getting me a dog because my home security is shit. Driving two hours out of your way to come see me. The way you said goodbye to me last time we parted ways. I like _that._ And, you know, that all kinds of adds up to me liking you as a whole."

Trevor stared at her, trying to process what he'd just heard, which was kind of difficult, because his mind was buzzing at a hundred miles an hour. There was a small part of him just roaring with savage triumph, because he _knew _it, he'd _won_, but it was drowned out by a much bigger part of him that realized she couldn't _mean _that. It wasn't that he doubted her sincerity—Evelyn had already shown a tendency to be honest with _him, _at least, if not _herself_—but she simply didn't have the information she needed to _really_ say that.

His last dose had worn off sometime in the last hour, which might explain why he suddenly felt so fucking tired. He released something between an exhale and a growl and leaned slightly forward, resting his forehead on her shoulder. Finding it easier to say when he didn't have to see her staring directly at him, he mumbled, "Ahh… thanks. But no. You really don't."

Instead of pushing him away, asking him what the fuck he was talking about like he halfway expected her to, she slipped an arm around his back and held him to her for a second, which somehow made it worse. With her other hand, she reached up and ran her fingers lightly through his sparse hair before trailing it down to the back of his neck and squeezing, prompting him to raise his head and pull back a little to look at her. Still holding onto him, she met his eyes and said, "Yeah. Most people have a long list of reasons to hate themselves. Maybe your list is more valid than others', I don't know, and look, if you _really _want to go into detail about that list, give me the information you think I should have to make a more informed decision, then I'm open to it. But most people kind of slowly find out the horrible things about each other side by side with the good things, you know? Gives the relationship a chance to grow, cause I don't know if you've noticed, but oversharing when you barely know each other has a tendency to shoot it dead right at the start."

He eyed her for a second before saying, "Relationship?"

She snorted and ignored the question, instead saying, "Look, if it makes you feel better, I'll amend it to saying I like what I've _seen _of you, okay? If that works for you, we'll take it from there."

In a rare moment of clarity and foresight, Trevor realized that this was a turning point. He could take her at her word; they could press on into a frankly ill-advised liaison that would likely end up ruining lives—definitely hers, probably his, and any number of other people's to boot. He could also pull back, repeat what he knew to be the truth—that she _couldn't_ like him, that they shouldn't even begin knowing that it was doomed to fail.

He knew that if only to save himself further trouble, he should choose the latter option—after all, it wasn't as if Evy had _ever _made things easy on him, and things only looked to get more difficult as she got to know him better. He should stop this right now just to save him the future rage and fucking _pain,_ but her hand was warm on his neck, and she was so gorgeous to him now as always, staring at him with eyes more brown than green at the moment, searching for an answer to that unspoken question, and Trevor had always been bad at denying himself anything he wanted, especially if what he wanted was right there within reach.

So Trevor did what Trevor always did when something was offered up to him in innocence: he took it. He reached up with both hands, pushing that long dark hair back over her shoulders, then he grasped her face and brought it hard to his.

She responded right away, as he knew she would, her little tongue slipping into his mouth and making him grow hard instantly. He growled into her, pushing her back into the alley wall, and at the impact she loosed a throaty chuckle, which didn't exactly deter him. He ground into her leg, pressing bruisingly into her mouth, and he fully expected her to suddenly realize her mistake, to throw him off her, but she gave as good as she got, sinking her teeth into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, and he loosed a pleased groan into her.

He let go of her face with one hand, dragging it down across her breast and torso and noting the soft moan she gave in response before he landed on the waistband of her jeans. With a quick, aggressive flick, he unbuttoned them, then dragged the zipper down, and she didn't move to stop him, simply pulling his face closer and kissed him harder.

Even as hard as he was, some animal instinct told him that if he just tried to fuck her in this fairly public alleyway, she would stop him, and at any rate, probably due to what she'd just said to him, he was feeling fairly altruistic, for him. He slipped his hand down past the band of her underwear, tentatively feeling the already-damp curls there. He broke away from her mouth, moving down to her throat, and when she neither said anything aside from a soft moan nor made any move to knock him away from her, he pushed his middle and index fingers into that welcoming wetness, rubbing at her simultaneously with his thumb.

She bit his shoulder so hard he felt the bruising pressure of it even through the jacket he wore. He made a hoarse sound somewhere between a laugh and a groan, reaching up to grasp the back of her head with his free hand and pulling her back so he could get to her mouth again. At some point, she'd started stroking him through his jeans, and though it wasn't strictly his preference, the friction was getting the job done, helped along by the feel of her and those fucking soft little _sounds _she kept making.

She must have wanted this more than he realized, because it was over fast—she broke suddenly away from the kiss, burying her head into his shoulder with a whine as she tightened around him, which in turn was enough to push him over the edge. He rested his face in the juncture where her throat and shoulder met, groaning as he came, and then for a moment they stayed like that, breathing hard and leaning into each other. Then she sighed, a contented sound, he thought, and he pulled away from her, glancing down the alleyway to make sure they hadn't been observed (not that he cared, but he thought _she_ might, and besides, he needed to know if they were gonna end this night running from the cops) and she adjusted her clothes.

Having ascertained that their brief tryst had gone unnoticed, he glanced back at her. She cleared her throat and appeared to be trying to avoid looking at him, studying her feet instead, but he watched her relentlessly until, clearly sensing his insistence, she met his eyes pointedly and defiantly, just like Evelyn. He couldn't help but crack a cocky smile at her even as he jerked his head towards the truck. "C'mon. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Evy, it turned out, was a cuddler.<p>

She'd started out in the passenger seat of the truck, yet somehow forty-five minutes into the drive, just outside the city, he found her tucked under his arm and leaning into his side like she belonged there. What's more, he was pretty sure she was asleep. And here Trevor thought it was the _guy _who was supposed to get off and promptly pass out. Why'd he bother to bring her for company if she was just gonna fall asleep on him, quite literally, huh?

Okay, so he wasn't actually mad about it. Not even annoyed, really. After all, if he really wanted to, he could tap the brakes, send her careening into the dashboard for quite the rude awakening, but maybe it was the orgasm, or maybe it was that Trevor tended towards more physical expressions of affection himself. Whatever it was, he found he was okay with it.

Really, if anything, he was _surprised_. He always got the distinct impression that she wanted to keep her guard way up around him, which was annoying, but (although he'd never say it to her because he didn't want to encourage it) somewhat understandable, given the circumstances. Now, here she was, distinctly and wholly vulnerable to anything he might or might not decide to do, and apparently totally fine with the idea. More, even—given the lack of secure restraints in the truck, she was effectively trusting him to keep his arm around her, keep her from falling away or off with the twists and turns and stops.

It baffled him. He tried, but he couldn't quite call to mind the last time someone had willingly fallen asleep so close to him, let alone _Evelyn, _who before now seemed to regard it as her personal mission to keep him at arm's length, literally. Trevor spent a fair amount of time paying for and persuading and tricking people into physical contact—to have it volunteered like this out of nowhere kind of threw him.

In a good way, though, he thought. It was novelty enough that he didn't give in to the temptation to remove his arm and let her just roll off the seat at the next red light (even though it would be _really _fucking funny if he did). He was content instead with just keeping his arm around her, chin resting on her head as he drove, appreciating the feel of her so close. It was sappy shit, but hey, it kept him from thinking about what might happen next. He was somewhat aggressively not-thinking about it, actually, especially in light of what Evelyn said earlier—_I can't commit to anything at all. _

He wasn't _thinking _about it because thinking about it would make him angry. Hell, after all, it wasn't like he was demanding _marriage _from her_. _Still, it would have been nice of her to give him some real indication of where he stood, some idea of whether she'd come around on her own or whether he was going to just have to keep abducting her out of the blue until she _did. _There wasn't anything he could do about it, though, and as always, feeling helpless pissed him off, so he ignored it and chose to take her _falling asleep on him _as a positive sign. _Think positive_, that was Trevor.

Somehow, despite the lack of conversation, the ride back to North Chumash went just as fast as the ride down. Still, Trevor would definitely be lying if he said he wasn't tempted to skip it entirely, just take her straight back to Sandy Shores with him and _keep _her there, but that was a little on the extreme side, even for him. She'd responded well to small steps thus far; he intended to keep making them as long as he could (which possibly wouldn't be for very long, his patience never lasted, more reason to take it slow _now _while he still felt capable).

He parked outside of the café where he'd first picked Evelyn up and set about the task of waking her up. Which proved more difficult than anticipated: "I knew you were a heavy sleeper, but _Christ, _Evy, what is this, a coma? Wake the fuck up!"

He was about to resort to slapping her when she finally roused herself, dragging herself away from his side and leaving a chill in her wake, which Trevor thought was kind of not fuckin' cool. She looked around blearily, clearly trying to get her bearings, and Trevor said, "Wow, you really slept, huh? Didn't even wake up when I ran down that Puerto Rican couple."

Half-asleep or not, she could still shoot him one killer glare. "You did _not_."

"…not _tonight, _I didn't," he yielded.

She shook her head before she was overtaken by a yawn, and she stretched her arms out and up indulgently as she woke up properly. Trevor stared, inexplicably pleased that her hair was a fucking mess (he _may _have had something to do with that; he was touching it a lot on the drive up). She rubbed the remaining sleep out of her eyes, then looked at him and said, "Sorry."

"Yeah," he said, watching her, "you _should_ be. Leaving me all by myself like that. I hope you plan to make up for it."

She snorted. "Please. You were hardly _alone_; I just wasn't talking."

"Yeah, and using me as a _pillow_. You know, Evy, I'm more than just a hunk of meat."

"Oh, my God, shut _up_," she said, not quite turning away in time to hide the grin creeping over her face from him.

Since she was obviously totally (and rightfully) endeared by him, he pushed his luck. "Sooooo," he began with studied casualness.

"Oh, God, what?"

"Since you just put in a two-hour nap and couldn't _possibly _still be tired, maybe I should, you know, follow you home. We can start Act Two, what do you say?"

"Trevor," she said in disbelief, "do you ever _sleep_?"

"Not when there's more important shit to do."

She chuckled at that, but he could already see the doubt brewing, knew her answer before she said it. "Still not quite there yet, I'm afraid. I've got some reconciliations to make, some serious brainwork to do."

Despite the rejection, that phrasing got a laugh out of him. "Brainwork. _Jesus_."

"Hey, c'mon. I like to think; you know this. You're gonna have to figure out a way to accept that if we're going to go on seeing each other."

The absurd fucking flare of hope that sprung into his chest at those words almost pissed him off. He was Trevor fucking Philips, international drug and arms dealer, possibly the most feared man in the state—he wasn't supposed to feel like a schoolgirl with a crush, so his voice might have been a little on the irate side as he repeated, "Seeing each other?"

To her credit, she didn't back down, though she definitely faltered a little at his tone. "Yeah. I mean, you're kind of the boss, as always, so it's your call, but… tonight threw a couple things into sharp relief for me, things I wasn't quite able to access last time around."

"Things," he repeated, staring hard at her. "What, things like _what_?"

"Anyone ever tell you you're kind of permanently stuck on eleven when the situation calls for like, a five, max?"

To say that it irked him that she wasn't taking something like this seriously was a massive understatement. "Evelyn, I'm not _fucking _around!" he snapped.

"And you're kind of proving my point. _Anyway_," she continued before he could start yelling properly, "Tonight just made it obvious that I actually _like _being around you and that that's not just the result of, y'know, terror for my life. Which, again—brainwork, because I need to figure out what that says about me. But _because _I apparently like you, yeah, I want to see you again if you want to see _me _again."

"Evelyn," Trevor said, moderately sedate again now that she'd quit jerking him around, "I doubt you could stop me if you _tried_."

She stared at him for a second and then shook her head. "Yeah, there's no possible way that sentence can come across as not creepy, no matter how you look at it, but I appreciate the sentiment. Give me your phone."

"Why?" he asked even as he dug in his pocket for it.

She stared unblinkingly at him, holding out her hand. "I'm gonna smash it."

"Oh, good," he said, handing it over. "Make my life easier."

She snorted, firing up the screen and keying something in. "Next time you want to drop in on me while I'm, I don't know, grocery shopping, at work, on a fucking _date_…" She finished up and handed his phone back to him—"Call ahead and give me some warning, okay?"

And there was her name right in his contacts list. Of course, he was perfectly capable of digging up her contact info on his own, he'd done it before, but it was a _gesture_, and he appreciated it. He didn't think she needed to know just how _much _he appreciated it, though, so he just said as he tucked the phone away in his pocket again, "Can't promise anything."

"Of course not," she sighed, turning and reaching for the door. "Good night."

Trevor immediately grabbed her arm, halting her. "Whoa, whoa, wait—that's it?"

No one played innocent like Evelyn played innocent—she stared at him with those big ol' eyes and asked, "What?"

"Fuck you, '_what_.' You can do better than that."

He saw the glitter of mischief that came into her eyes at that, and Trevor didn't really do misgivings, but he got the sudden idea that he might have made a technical error along the lines of not being careful what he wished for. That mischief faded out fast, though, replaced by something softer, and he loosened his grip on her as she came back across the seat to him, taking his face in her hands, and pressed her mouth to his.

And honestly, the kiss kind of stunned him. He usually went in for hot and heavy and messy, tongues and hands and sex. He thrived there; he liked that. This kiss had none of that, which was probably why it caught him off guard—just soft lips and gentle hands cradling his face. He couldn't remember the last time someone had kissed him like that. He found himself flashing back to what she'd said earlier, _I like you_, and suddenly believing each word. She kissed him like she truly fucking cared, and he instantly knew that somewhere down the line, this girl was going to fuck him up. And he was going to let it happen.

He was so caught up that, completely unlike him, he missed the opportunity to try to push it into steamier territory before she broke away. Still holding onto him, she just looked at him for a minute, eyes heavy-lidded and borderline blissful, and he felt almost a jolt as he realized he'd been _much _more on point with that analogy of him being her fix than he'd quite realized. The realization turned him _way _on, and he reached for her, _little steps can get fucked, _but unfortunately he'd waited a second too long—she snapped out of it, moving with almost supernatural speed out of his reach and out of his truck.

"God fucking damn it!" he swore, punching the dashboard hard enough to make his whole hand ache, and Evelyn choked out a laugh, peering at him from the other side of the door, that nearly-drugged look gone from her face and replaced by the mischief instead.

"I told you. We're not there," she informed him.

"Fuck you," he said, scowling and rubbing his fingertips across his knuckles, "_I'm _there."

"Then do me a favor and wait for me."

He glanced up, still scowling, but the frown faded some when he saw her face and how fucking _anxious _she looked, like he was just gonna throw it all back in her face, tell her that wasn't good enough, _she_ wasn't good enough, check out right then. On a crueler day, he might have—but not today. Today, Trevor was kind. So he just ground out, "Don't take too long."

He'd meant for it to be an order; it came out sounding much more like a request—something that was happening more and more around her and had the potential to be dangerous. Still, it was out there, he couldn't backtrack now.

Evelyn stared at him for a couple more seconds, then nodded. "Good night, Trevor," she said, tapping the side of the truck in farewell and turning away.

He grunted. He felt that he should be a little more peeved at being denied again, but really, altogether—the day had been good. Altogether, he was, if not happy, then at least content. He followed her with his eyes until she disappeared around the edge of the building he was parked behind.

Then he straightened up, shook her off of him, and turned the key in the ignition. _Time to get back to work._

**End.**

* * *

><p><strong>AN** - Nothin says romance quite like getting to third base with a meth dealer in a semi-public back alley, am I right, guys?

Aaaand that's the end of this installation of the series! It was really just an excuse to hang out with Michael and have Trevor and Evelyn get at least halfway to some kind of understanding, but I had fun- did you?

The next part of the series will definitely be longer than this, maybe longer than the first story. It's plotted but I have to organize and write it, so it might be a little while before it shows up, but it _will_ show up- just keep a casual eye on this space. In the meantime, thank you all so much for the feedback and encouragement! You guys rock. See you next time!


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